


The pond

by Shadowsof_thenight



Series: Fictober [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 17:35:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowsof_thenight/pseuds/Shadowsof_thenight
Summary: Sam tries to figure out why his best friend, Steve Rogers, has suddenly changed their morning routine.Promptnumber: 17 “There is just something about them/her/him.”





	The pond

“What are you looking at?” Sam wondered, his gaze fixed upon his phone as he plopped down on the bench next to Steve. Steve didn’t answer immediately, Sam’s words not registering with the super soldier. And it took Sam a few moments to notice the silence that followed his question, too engrossed by the conversation he was having through texts. 

“Steve?” He carefully prodded after some time, wondering where the mind of his friend had drifted off too. 

“What?” Steve was pulled from his pondering, slightly surprised that he was no longer alone on the park bench. 

Earlier that morning the two avengers had gone out for their daily run and, as always, Steve would outrun Sam quite quickly. After which he would finish his laps and wait upon this very bench until Sam could join him. it had not always been like this, though the past few weeks had seen to this change and it stuck. Sam was yet to figure out why the difference in routine had occurred, but he made no objections. Catching his breath on a bench under the sun was quite welcome after running his miles. 

“What are you looking at?” Sam repeated his question, looking up from his phone now and trying to follow the direction in which his friend had been staring. He wasn’t quite sure what he was looking for, as he stared across the sizeable pond in front of them. 

The park was busy at this time of day, with many people getting ready for their days. There were people in suits, walking hastily to make their morning meetings. Children running as they were made their way to school, while their parents or carers followed closely. And a small vendor selling flowers to passersby. It was a rather serene scene, pleasant to view, though Sam knew there had to be more to it. Certainly his friend would not have deviated from his normal routine if there wasn’t something more. Steve was a man of little change after all, someone how enjoyed carefully picked routines. 

Steve shrugged, not incline to answer the question and Sam accepted that, biding his time. He’d get the answer out of Steve at some point, he always did. Steve never did keep much from him, in time he always shared his thoughts and feelings. The following week, Sam studied his friend and the surroundings during their moments on that bench, not discovering much at first. Not much changed, there were different faces most days, but similar activities. The cacophony of sounds just distant enough to be pleasant, rather than overwhelming after their run. 

After a week, however, Sam realised that one thing remained the same throughout the week. Six days a week, anyway. The vendor selling her flowers. 

She was a pretty woman, judging from this distance. She had long deep brown hair that was usually pulled up into a high ponytail. On her face she wore a tireless and bright smile. She was always dressed in jeans and a colourful sweater on top, talking animatedly to her customers. She exuded light and happiness, making it easy to understand what drew Steve to her. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind now, that Steve came to watch her. That he wanted to drink in the euphoria that she seemed to share so generously with the people around her. 

“So,” Sam began, to get Steve’s attention, “It’s her then?” He asked bluntly, looking sideways to carefully monitor his friend’s expression. 

Steve’s expression didn’t change much, no blush, no shock or denial. He simply smiled, content, which was an expression he often held as he sat on this bench. He also didn’t speak immediately, instead he allowed the comfortable silence to linger before he finally opened his mouth to answer his inquisitive friend. 

**“There is just sometime about her.”**


End file.
